


Sibling Rivalries

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [165]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:17:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>trcunning prompted: Moira Queen’s maidenname is Stilinski, the Sheriff tried to warn her about Robert, they haven’t spoken since.</p><p> </p><p>(this got away from the prompt a little - Sheriff can’t seem to hate family)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sibling Rivalries

Moira always wanted the finer things; the perfect husband, the perfect house that seemed to come straight off the pages of the glossy lifestyle magazines she used to hoard under her bed.  Moira hated that their house was so small, that her shoes had to be worn until they wore thin, that their mother had to  save and budget every last penny.  They weren’t poor, not the way that John measures poverty now.  There was always a roof overhead, food on the table, presents every Christmas and birthday.

It wasn’t enough for Moira.

They argued, fiercely, the day after she graduated.  Her one bag was already packed, zipped up and waiting for her.  "You got out,“ Moira snapped finally, sniffing back tears so as not to ruin her made up eyes.  

"The Army’s a little different, kiddo,” John had tried to argue back.  "What will you even do in Starling City?“

Moira had shook her head slightly and straightened her spine, resolve crystallizing around her like a shield.  "Whatever it is, it has to be better than this.”  Nothing else John said even registered.

He drove her to the bus station, and pushed into her hands all the cash he had.  She stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips against his cheek like she hadn’t done since she was four and John was eight and the world hadn’t pushed them in different directions.

John drove home to comfort their mother, still weeping where she sat at the kitchen table.

Moira wrote him occasionally.  The photograph in a heavy cream envelope was waiting for him at the base when he came back from field exercises, cross with himself and ready to become a civilian again.  "I’m engaged!“ was scrawled on the back of the image of Moira, almost unrecognizable all coiffed, heavy pearls around her neck.  John didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes.  There was a second envelope, an invitation.

John got leave, showed up the night before at the hotel still in his uniform.  Moira’s clothes were expensive, the ring on her finger worth more than everything John had. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

"Robert’s a good man,” Moira kept saying, like she was trying to reassure herself.

“You don’t have to do this,” he kept replying.

It was only because he had watched her grow up that John could see, under her makeup, where Moira had been crying as she stood with a stranger to take her vows.

“Hurt her and I’ll kill you,” John warned him at the reception.

Robert smirked like he held all the aces.

Moira’s letters dwindled; her phone number ceased to connect.  He wasn’t surprised the first year there wasn’t a card at Christmas.  He wrote out an invitation to his and Claudia’s wedding; it returned, undelivered.  She didn’t send flowers when their mother died, and John wondered if she even knew, or just didn’t care.

Stiles was upstairs, grumbling over his homework, when John turned on the TV just in time for the news bulletin to cut into the late afternoon soap operas.  Moira was almost unrecognizable as she gave her warning, pleaded her crimes.

John stood still, remote in his hand as he watched his sister confess to genocide.  

He could see she’d been crying.


End file.
